


trust fall

by geoffox



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anxiety, Connor Lives, Depression, Emotions, Feels, Freeform, General au, Ink AU, M/M, Oops, Spoilers, Suicide Attempts, That one au where stuff you write on your skin appears on the other person's skin, Tree Bros, but it's also an au so some things are different, crabby connor, gay bois, high connor, psychosis connor, thank god no one dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-21 11:28:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10684383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geoffox/pseuds/geoffox
Summary: Evan Hansen is a part of the world's longest trust fall.Connor Murphy is just trying to breathe.Living is hard. Love is probably harder, and with two messed up boys, it might be impossible. Until it's not.





	1. penmanship

Evan Hansen is a part of the world’s longest trust fall. Technically everyone is, but Evan especially because his life is rocky and tall like a mountain. He’s supposed to believe in magical soulmates but really he’s got trouble believing in himself. He’s seen other’s ink, even tried writing on his own skin, to see if his soulmate would answer, to no avail. He’s resigned himself to the fact that his soulmate might not know how to write.

Until they do.

 

_“Fuckup.”_

 

He finds the word on the inner curve of his calf, scribbled there with a spidery sort of scrawl. At first he’s confused. It almost sounds like something he would write himself, not on his leg though, somewhere a bit more hidden. He washes off the blue ink on his leg so his mother won’t see and goes about his daily life.

A few days later, a collection of scratchy, frowny faces shows up on Evan’s bony knee. They look shaky and mad, etched in with sharp, quick lines. Evan examines them briefly before rubbing them away with his thumb.

He writes a letter to himself that night, not really talking about much, but mentioning the appearing ink. He knows that this should be a bigger deal, his “soulmate” has initiated contact, whether purposeful or not, but he can’t really bring himself to care. He just hopes his soulmate is having a better time than he is. Judging from the marks, they probably aren’t.

He breaks his arm a week later, falling from a maple tree. His mom calls it an accident as she drives him to therapy after getting his cast set. Evan almost writes on his skin, right between his sleeve and the top of the cast.

 _“Failure,”_ the word is written on the inside of his wrist, in his soulmate’s familiar scratchy penmanship.

“Evan?” His therapist knocks him out of his reverie. “What’s on your mind?”

He holds out his arm and she squints to read the word.

“Did you write that?” She asks, voice careful.

“No,” Evan shakes his head. “I could’ve though.”

His therapist purses her lips. “Have you tried writing back?”

Evan hasn’t really thought that much about it. He shakes his head.

“Maybe you should.”

That night Evan is poised with a pen held awkwardly between his clumsy, cast hindered fingers. He thinks about what to write for a while, but doesn’t end up with anything good. Instead he goes to bed.

 

It’s two days past that night when _“HELP,”_ shows up on his knuckles. He’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, typing out a letter on his school laptop, when they appear, line for line drawn on the hard edges his hand. At first he doesn’t know what to do. He’s been feeling a bit better ever since the fall, like he got a lot of the bad stuff out of his system, but he still feels far removed from the current situation.

Above the word spelled out on each knuckle, another set of scratchy lines appear.

_“HELP.”_

Evan sighs and reaches over to his bedside where a ballpoint pen is lying among the cluttered mess that is his night table. He uncaps it with his teeth and holds it above his good arm.

 _“Are you okay?”_ He spells out the words carefully, suddenly anxious about writing something wrong or having bad handwriting.

The parade of _“HELP”_ on his fingertips stop mid-word. There’s three and half rows of letters now, each row more narrow than the last.

Minutes pass. Evan closes his laptop and pushes it aside.

He adds another question mark to the end of his sentence and watches the words on his knuckles and then on his arm wash away.

 

New ink hasn’t showed up in a day and a half. Evan is mildly worried. He starts school in the meantime, and no one signs his cast. That night he sits on his bed, cross-legged and familiar. His computer’s at his bedside. He’s got a pen.

 _“Hello?”_ He writes on  the smoothness of his arm. He’s worried. Anxious as usual for a seemingly _usual_ reason that’s absolutely _un_ usual for him. A soulmate. His soulmate. The other half of his heart, as the romance novels say. It doesn’t feel like that. It feels like an extra stressful phone call.

Evan is so lost in thought that when he blinks, the response has already occured. His careful word have been covered in angry black lines.

He chews on his lip.

 _“What’s your name?”_ As he’s writing the words they are crossed out, line after line layered on top of each other.

 

 _“STOP,”_ the letters are huge, taking up his whole forearm. A minute later the words are being smudged away and Evan’s pen clatters to the floor, rolling beneath his bed. It’s suddenly deathly quiet.

Words stain. Evan wears longsleeves the next morning at school, keeping the fading ink hidden.

He tries not to think about it.

 

“Maybe you should try again?” His therapist wonders during their weekly session. “It sounds like your soulmate is going through a tough time right now.”

Evan looks at his arm. It’s been completely washed clean by now. “Maybe…” the word sounded bad coming out, like something stale.

His therapist leans back in her chair and sighs. “You’re in a difficult situation Evan. But you’re not alone.”

He took a shaky breath. “I just—” Evan’s voice cracked. “If something—happened to them, I would feel so guilty.”

“You shouldn’t have to worry about that. You’re seventeen.”

 Evan held his tongue because he was anxious and all around stressed out. What else was he supposed to do?

 

It has been a week. Evan tells his mom he’s tired and retires to his room, armed with a black and blue pen, stomach in knots.

He was going to try.

 _“I’m Evan.”_ he writes, relatively quick. “ _17.”_

He spends ten minutes watching his arm and another ten staring out his window, trying to find constellations among the dim stars. When he looks down, he finds a response, small and sharp, right below his words.

_“Connor. 17.”_

Evan smiles, just a small one. He rummages around for one of his pens that got trapped between the wrinkles of his messy bed. He would need to sort things out in his head afterwards.

_“How are you?”_

_“High.”_

Evan blinks. He holds his pen above his arm for while longer before responding.

 _“Oh.”_ He really doesn’t know what else to say.

 _“Don’t approve?”_ The lettering is harsh, jagged even.

Evan’s teeth find his lower lip and dig in. _“I don’t really care.”_

There was no answer after that. He swung his legs so that he was on his stomach, hanging over the side of his bed.

A few minutes goes by with no communication. Evan twiddles his pen between his fingers.

 _“Where do you live?”_ He finally writes. Maybe Connor isn’t much of a talker.

 _“Ohio.”_  

Evan lit up at that. _“I live in Kentucky.”_

_“Ok.”_

_“That’s really close by.”_

_“Ok.”_

Evan puffs up his cheeks in focus. Big questions. _“Are you okay?”_

_“Night.”_

 

Connor doesn’t respond after that, not even after Evan’s good arm turns dark with ink. He can’t help but think that something awful has happened. He leaves the ink on his arm in the hope that Connor will at least read it.

Connor. He wraps his head around the name. Most definitely a guy. Evan never pinned himself as gay but maybe he is. Or bi or whatever else there is. He’s never really done much research on the subject. It should probably matter more to him but it really doesn’t. It’s never really mattered in a world of fate defined soulmates.

 

Evan turns off the lamp at his bedside and pulls the cover over his head. His broken arm aches and his cast is still unsigned.


	2. sinking

He scrubs his arm clumsily the next day, clearing it of black ink before he goes to school. In chemistry they get new lab partners and Evan finds himself partnered with one Jared Kleinman. Sharp hair and sharper tongue.

Halfway through the period he spots a new frowny face on his knee. It’s tiny, smaller than his fingernail in fact, but it’s still there. Evan realizes he’s left his pens at home.

“Jared,” he fumbles for the name because they’ve really only just met and it’s not a particularly catchy name like _“Connor.”_

“What,” The boy is balancing a microscope slide on top of a test tube. Evan has a right to be worried.

“Can I borrow your pen?” He points at the blue pen on the other side of Jared.

“Sure,” The snarky kid replies offhandedly and watches as Evan reaches with the pen under the lab table. His eyebrows rise.

“Is that your soulmate?” he asks, a winding smile drifting across his features. “How _cute._ ”

“None of your business,” Evan says, a bit exasperated as he draws a smiley face right next to the angry one.

“How long have you been—” Jared laughs. “ _Penpals?”_  

He rolls his eyes and pushes the pen back towards him. “Not long. And not funny.”

Their teacher orders them to go back to writing the prelab and Evan sighs.

 

By the end of the day there’s quite a few faces on his knee. A mix of single color, black ink frowns and a collection of fairly colorful smiles from the various pens Evan’s borrowed throughout the day. It’s like a war, except Evan’s pretty sure he’s on the wrong side. Just a week and a half ago he “fell” from a tree after all. Just before that he’d been uncaring and emotionless and he’s bound to feel that way again. There’s no point to trying to combat Connor’s sadness.

 

“But you could make him feel better,” his therapist replies. “You’re doing good.”

“It doesn’t really feel like that,” Evan sighs. “It feels like I’m having a pointless argument with myself. Like he might not even actually be real,” he knows that’s completely silly though. Soulmates have always been a thing. As long as there were people and ink.

The therapist hums in thought. “You’re not alone,” she says after a moment.

“You say that,” Evan presses his fingertips together idly. “But you have _me_ write letters to _myself._ And apparently my soulmate is a depressed druggie.”

Her mouth twitches into a hopeful smile. “Life is a rollercoaster, Evan. I’ve told you that before. Everyone has ups and downs but we’re always moving.”

He stares at the mess of ink on his knee and thinks.

 

“ _What do you like to do?”_ he writes in an open place on his knee. He can hear his mother’s clattering from the kitchen. There isn’t an answer so he does homework in the meantime, glancing down ever so often.

 _“I like to write,”_ he adds after almost half an hour of no response. _“and climb trees.”_

 _“Skateboarding,”_ there’s finally a response. _“Music.”_ The letters write out slowly.

Evan kind of gets it. Connor’s words need to be pulled out carefully, patiently.

 _“Do you play an instrument?”_ he asks, printing the words out just above his knee where there’s more room.

_“Bass and piano.”_

He smiles. _“That’s cool.”_

_“I’m tired, so night.”_

Evan hurried to write a quick _“Goodnight!”_ before the words were smudged away.

 

Jared signs his cast. A short handed signature by his thumb. A day later he hangs out with Evan after school in the library and pokes at the barely-there ink on Evan’s knee.

“Emotional battle?” he grins.

“Do you know your soulmate?” Evan asks instead. In the brief time that they’ve been lab partners, he hasn’t seen any visible writing on Jared’s arms or legs.

“We text,” Jared holds up his phone. “It’s the twentieth century after all.”

“Oh,” Evan glanced at at his knee.

 

“ _Do you wanna trade phone numbers?”_ His phone is next to him on the bed.

The answer comes quick. _“I don’t have a phone.”_

Evan frowns. _“Is it broken?”_

He gets no response.

 

Day by day they have conversations. Evan makes sure to ask about trivial things. Connor’s favorite color is red. He has a younger sister and he wants a tarantula. Evan tells him that he loves green and has no siblings and absolutely detests spiders.

 _“I get anxious a lot,”_ he writes to Connor on the back of his hand, one late night. He’s feeling loopy from how late he’s stayed up. It’s almost two in the morning and he’s running out of skin to write on.

_“Oh.”_

Evan leans his head on his pillow. He’s so tired. His eyelids feel so heavy. He stares at his hand.

_“I feel like dying sometimes.”_

 

When he wakes up his mother is there. He blinks groggily at her, aware that she is looking astoundingly happy.

“Is that your soulmate? Oh this makes so much sense now! How long have you been talking? Who is she?”

Evan sits up. He glances at himself where faded, blurred out pen marks are all over his skin.

“It’s he, actually,” he says, yawning. “His name is Connor. And we’ve been talking for almost two and half weeks”

His mom looks like she’s going to explode from happiness.

He remembers then, the last minute response before his mind fogged up with sleep. Evan looks at his hand but can’t find any evidence that the message even existed.

 

“I like talking to him,” Evan rubs his shoulder. “I want to make him feel happy. It feels weird because—we’re soulmates.”

His therapist nods. “The universe put you two together,” she smiles. “And you made a friend too.”

“Two friends,” Evan bites his lip. “I think. I met a guy at school. He’s my lab partner.”

She beams.

 

He’s hanging out with Jared after school when he sees the tiny words penned in right above his ankle and his heart drops out.

_“Evan help.”_

 

“You okay?” Jared asks.

“Pen,” Evan’s voice is shaking. The phrase _“I feel like dying sometimes,”_ races around in his head and he _hopes_ he dreamed it.

Jared rummages through his bag and passes a pen. Evan’s heart is racing. He doesn’t want anything bad to happen to Connor.

 _“Are you okay??”_ he writes quickly.

 

When he doesn’t get a response, he grabs his backpack. “I have to go home, Jared,”

“Is Connor okay?” Jared asks, eyes big. They’ve talked about his soulmate before in idle conversation. Enough for Jared to get an idea of who Connor is.

“I don’t— think so,” Evan holds up the pen. “I’ll give this back tomorrow.

 

He races home, checking his skin along the way.

 _“Help,”_ the word is oddly sized and weirdly written, like Connor’s hand isn’t working right.

 _“What’s wrong??”_ Evan’s lungs refuse to function, taking quick shallow breaths.

There’s no response.

 _“Connor??”_ He reaches the front door and pulls it open with a clack.

“Mom!” he calls out, hoping that maybe she’s home early, home at all.

But she isn’t.

 

He drops his bag on the couch and snatches a couple more pens from the jar on the kitchen counter.

 _“Connor are you okay???”_ His head hurts so bad.

 

_“dying.”_

 

_“What???”_

 

 _“Sorry...”_ the ink is almost illegible.

 

Evan panics.

_“Where are you right now????”_

Connor doesn’t respond.

_“Connor?!?!”_

No response.

Evan passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't you worry child.
> 
> tumblr = geoffox


	3. phone calls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (spoiler) he lives. read the tags my friends.
> 
>  
> 
> yay for updates. check out my other two deh stories if you want as well.
> 
> anyway tumblr is geoffox. 
> 
> thanks for all of your support!

That evening Evan’s mom finds him sobbing on the living room floor, shaking and inconsolable.

Connor must be dead.

 

“Tell me exactly what happened,” His therapist says, face grim.

His eyes are puffy and his skin is still covered with ink. He hasn’t washed any of it off. Hasn’t bothered.

“I think he’s dead,” Evan murmurs, barely audible.

“What makes you think that?”

 

He tells her about the disappearing message that he could’ve—should’ve dreamed. He tells her about Connor and the fact that he wants a tarantula and has a sister that’s a year younger than him. He tells her about his musical skills and his talent with the bass guitar and piano. He talks about Connor’s quirky mannerisms. How every word needs to be dragged out and enjoyed. He talks about the words that made his heart leap into his throat and caused his blood to run cold. He talks and probably could have cried but he cried all his tears in his living room.

 

Connor must be dead.

 

Evan’s therapist doesn’t say much after he’s all talked out, lapsed into a dismal silence. There really isn’t much to say.

He almost expects her to say “You’re not alone,” but he is. He is alone.

Suddenly the view from a high branch is looking very appealing again.

When he gets back from therapy he washes the pen ink off and texts Jared.

 

The next morning Evan goes to school because his mom is absolutely terrified that he’ll do something rash at home. Jared tries to cheer him up but he feels like—

_“Failure.”_

Evan stares at the word on the underside of his arm. He grabs a pen.

 _“Connor??”_ There’s no response for a few minutes.

 _“Hello,”_ it’s his familiar scratchy handwriting. Clearly some sort of washable marker crammed into tiny lettering so that the edges blur against skin.

_“Are you okay??”_

More time passes.

Connor writes back. _“Phone number?”_

As Evan scribbles it across his forearm, the rest of the conversation wipes away.

In the other boy’s rough scrawl. _“TTYL”_

 

Evan leans his head against his hands. He must be alive.

 

The rest of the day is spent anxiously checking his phone. Jared jokes more now that it’s clear Connor’s alive and Evan is confused. He thought that Connor didn’t have a phone.

“Maybe he’s in the hospital,” Jared wonders with him.

Evan shrugs. “I hope I’ll find out.”

The call comes at nine in the evening. It’s an unknown number but the caller ID says _“Ohio.”_

Evan doesn’t think he’s ever been as anxious and relieved as he is right now. It’s not that he’s become attached to Connor, though he has, just a little bit. It’s just that he feels responsible. Like somehow he’s involved in what happens to his soulmate miles and miles away.

“H-Hello?” He answers tentatively. His mother watches from across the kitchen table.

_“Evan?”_

He doesn’t know what he expected Connor to sound like, but it wasn’t this. His voice sounds sly and a bit grumbly, but mainly just sharp. It sends a chill down his spine because that’s his _soulmate_ on the other side of the phone.

“Y-Yeah, that’s me,” he stutters again, so nervous. “Connor?”

 _“Hello,”_ Connor sounds wrung out.

Evan takes a breath to try and calm his nerves. “How are you?”

_“I’m in the psyche ward, so—yeah. I couldn’t call you until phone time.”_

“Do you know when you get out?” Evan asks.

_“I don’t.”_

There’s a moment of silence.

_“Well bye then—”_

Evan panics. “Wait!”

There’s quiet on the other side of the line.

“I’m glad you’re—”

Connor hangs up.

 

Evan spends a school day in quiet thought. He pens a smiley face onto his wrist and watches it slowly fade as one day turns into two, and then three.

He is alive.

 

“I hope he’s getting the help he needs,” Evan stares out the small window in the office. “He sounded bad on the phone.”

“Maybe he was nervous?” His therapist clicks her pen.

He sighs. “He didn’t sound nervous.”

She wrote something down.

“I just wish he’d call again. Or write. Or do anything.”

 

Jared and him go for a walk in the park by the school. Their original plan was to stop by the crusty bookstore on the corner but that had been a lot shorter than expected.

“What’s your soulmate like?” Evan finally breaks the off and on silence.

“Sweet,” Jared snarks. “Better than your soulmate.”

Evan kicks at a fallen pinecone. It skitters across the path into the bushes. “Are you in love yet?”

Jared glances at him. “I dunno,” he grins. “Maybe.”

 

Connor calls him that night.

 _“I figured I might as well call,”_ he explains, and his voice still sends a tendril of strangeness down Evan’s spine. _“It’s really boring here.”_

He fumbles for a response. “At least you’re okay.”

 _“Yeah,”_ Connor doesn’t sound too thrilled about that. _“Great.”_

Evan doesn’t really know what to say after that. He’s never been good with people, always too anxious for that sort of contact.

_“I get out in a couple days. Probably Friday. Lots of people leave on Fridays.”_

Evan smiles even though no one can see. “Great!”

_“Yeah. Great.”_

Evan drums his fingers on his bedspread. He doesn’t want to hang up but he doesn’t know what to talk about.

 _“Bye,”_ Connor abruptly hangs up.

Evan draws another smiley face on his wrist.

  


“I need a list of conversation questions,” Evan says to Jared in chemistry. “He’s not very talkative and half the time I don’t know what to say.”

“Your soulmate?” One of the students sitting at the next lab table over looks up. “Are you talking about your soulmate?” She’s got dark skin and darker hair, and looks like a preppy princess.

“Uh,” Evan could feel a sweat breaking on his forehead. “Yeah. I guess.”

She smiles but her eyes prod at him uncomfortably. “How long have you been talking?”

Jared rolls his eyes. “Okay but _why_ are you asking?”

Evan’s grateful for the bite in his words. He doesn’t really know what to say about Connor. He doesn’t want to tell people that his soulmate is in the hospital because—he’s very sure he tried to kill himself—of the stigma surrounding hospitals and mental illnesses.

The girl raises an eyebrow. “Because I want to help?” She twists a pen in one hand. “I’m Alana and I can’t help but overhear your conversations every day.”

 

Evan watches Alana reach into her backpack and pull out a small book.

“My mom gave me this for when I go to college, but you can use it for now. I’ll need it back before I graduate.”

Jared peeks over Evan’s shoulder as he flips the book over.

_“101 Icebreaker Questions and Quizzes.”_

Evan is thankful.

 

“If you could have any superpower, what superpower would you have?”

Connor is silent briefly. _“What?”_ He seems annoyed and Evan instantly regrets this idea.

“I just—” he takes a shaky breath. “I just thought that maybe since you were bored—”

 _“That you’d treat me like a little kid?”_ His words carry venom. He hears someone talking in the background of the phone call and Connor’s hissing response.

“Sorry,” Evan can feel his legs shaking. At least he’s sitting  on his bed. He’s made a mistake. He’s done it. He’s made a mistake. He’s done it. “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. My bad. I didn’t mean that. Sorry. Sorry. _Sorry—”_   

 _“Stop fucking apologizing—!”_ The rest of whatever Connor was going to say is immediately cut off as the phone call ends.

 

Evan can’t seem to fall asleep that night. When he eventually wakes up, he feels dry and small. Connor probably dislikes him now. Dislikes him very much.

He’s walking to school when his phone buzzes in his pocket and his anxiety spikes.

“H-Hello?” He sits down on a nearby bench, knees knocking together.

 

 _“Invisibility,”_ Connor’s voice is hollow and sad. _“Sorry. I would want invisibility.”_

“O-Okay—” Evan’s voice cracks.

 _“Sorry,”_ Connor mumbles. _“What about you—oh are you in school?”_

“No,” Evan looks at his knees. They have spots on them. Maybe they were freckles? “I’d—probably like to fly? Or maybe control plants? Or something like that…”

 _“That’s cool,”_ Connor responds. _“I—”_ There’s a pause. _“I have to go now. We have a group. But—um—”_ His voice dips until Evan has to strain to hear it. _“Sorry.”_ He hangs up.

 

Evan is almost late for first period. The word _“invisibility”_ is burning a hole in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are extra appreciated. oh and feel free to give me prompts and shit on my tumblr. (geoffox).


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